The Lord is My Shepherd
by Kimmy.Tosh
Summary: It isn't easy to say goodbye
1. Scott

Special thanks to mcj for all her help and guidance, and her polishing abilities.

 **The Lord is My Shepherd**

I was still young when my mother died.

Most people assume I was old enough to remember her funeral, but the truth is I don't. Well, not much of it. Some child psychologist will probably say that it's some kind of coping mechanism for the trauma of her death and the way in which it affected my childhood.

Whatever.

But I do remember some things.

I remember the sting of the cold as we waited for the hearse ... the warmth of Virgil's hand as he slipped it into mine … struggling to believe that my Mom was really inside that box and the thud of that first fist-full of earth as it hit the shiny wood.

Today is different, but then, it's also the same in lots of ways.

The cold stung my cheeks as we waited outside for the hearse. Virgil's hand was on my back as we walked into the chapel together and now my eyes are fixated on the gloss of those exquisite brass handles, thoughts centred around the contents. Unfortunately, in my line of work, I've seen enough to have a good understanding of just what's inside there now. I guess that's the difference between the young boy who buried his mother and the man here today cremating his Grandmother.

It's a small gathering; much smaller than I'd first thought. But then in retrospect, I guess most of Grandma's friends have passed on already. I really hope that we haven't over-estimated the catering. I guess it doesn't matter. Grandma was always a good host. If nothing else, she'd want there to be plenty of food to go around.

The warmth of Virgil's hand is on my knee, radiating support. I turn to him and his sad eyes are telling me that it's time. I look to John, then Gordon and Alan, and I realise that they are waiting on me, too.

Looking at me with expectation.

Virgil squeezes my knee softly, comforting and grounding me at the same time. I clear my throat a little as I rise to my feet, acknowledging him as he stands to let me out into the aisle.

I step up to the podium to see the faces of my brothers and my father; faces ranging from solemn to tear-stained. Suddenly my throat is dry. I can't speak. My eyes burn.

My gaze catches my father's and he holds it. A gentle nod is the only outward indication of any communication, yet his eyes tell me so much.

Pride.

Solace.

Love.

I take a deep breath, and begin.

 _"_ _The Lord is my Shepherd; I shall not want."_

And you never did, did you Grandma? Right back in that dusty farmhouse in Kansas. But you know what? You were _our_ shepherd. More than you ever realised. You guided us. In every possible sense of the word.

 _"_ _He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters."_

You sure had your work cut out leading us, huh Grandma? But you did it. Our moral compass. We didn't turn out so bad. You experienced so much loss with Grandpa and Mom, but you were never bitter. You just quietly devoted your life to guiding us though our lives instead.

 _"_ _He restoreth my soul: he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name's sake."_

That's probably why we do the job we do now. The path of righteousness you set us upon. All through our lives, teaching us what it was to act with integrity and honour.

 _"_ _Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; they rod and thy staff they comfort me."_

I can believe that. You wouldn't be afraid of death, Grandma. I don't think I've ever seen you fear anything in your life. My eyes suddenly veer to Virgil's and I realise what you're trying to tell me. He's my comforter alright. You always knew that.

 _"_ _Thou prepares a table before me in the presence of mine enemies: thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over."_

Suddenly, I'm reminded how kind you always were to others. There was always an empty seat at our table; always room for another to stay the night even in the early days when there wasn't all that much to go around.

 _"_ _Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life: and I will dwell in the house of the Lord for ever"_

I sure hope so Grandma, because if all I've just thought about in the last minute is anything to go by, no-one I know deserves that more than you do.

Rest in peace now.


	2. Virgil

Scott reclaims his seat alongside me and we sit shoulder to shoulder. I can practically feel the weight lifted from him now that it's over. I'm glad it was him and not me. I don't think I could have kept it together; John would have found it tough, too. Gordon and Alan didn't even figure as options; Dad knew today would be hard enough for them, already.

As always, Scott doesn't dwell too much on the effect doing something has on him. He just does what needs to be done; stepping up to the plate to save us the distress of the responsibility. I'm sure he doesn't realise the irony of it, but he's our Shepherd too. The two of us shared a few drinks last night and we talked about today; about how we'd get through it. He confided he was worried that he might not be able to shoulder this one. I assured him he could, and he would.

And I was right. Grandma would have been so proud of him.

I catch his eye as we stand to sing another hymn and I try to tell him that I'm just as proud of him too.


	3. John

My Grandma always told me that the reason why my relationship with my eldest brother was so fractious was because, deep down inside, I was jealous of him. I always smiled back and replied that whilst she was entitled to her opinion, I didn't necessarily agree with her.

Now, as I watch Scott take comfort from the fact that he has Virgil at his side, I have to admit she was right. It's too late to tell her, of course. I guess you could say I'm just kind of driven. I like being right and sometimes I'm a little too opinionated about it. Scott and I are way too similar and that's the main reason we had that heated 'discussion' over the _'Ocean Pioneer'_ a few years back. But I've never been so pleased for Scott to take the lead and be right when he told Dad, that as the eldest, he'd deliver the reading at the service for Grandma.

I don't know if I could have.

For that, he'll have my respect for eternity.


	4. Gordon

My eyes are routed to that fancy, wooden box. The way the light reflects off it and the way that the brass handles shine. The angle's all wrong for me to check the engraving on the metal plate but I make a point of reminding myself to see it before…. well, you know. Grandma had a thing about her name being spelt right.

Movement catches my eye and I see Tin-Tin take Alan's hand. He's really upset and I can understand that. This is the first person close to him that he's ever said goodbye to.

I know that's the way it feels for me.

I watch Scott deliver the reading; one of Grandma's favourite Psalms. How does he do it? Stay so composed? His voice never wavers; his timing is perfect and consistent; long enough for the congregation to really think about each verse.

Long enough for me to be reminded of the quiet strength our family has lost.

I kind of envy his control as I feel the hot tears roll unabated down my cheeks. My eyes return to her casket and for a moment, I think selfishly of the possibility that a few years ago it could've been me.

Funerals really challenge your beliefs, you know. I'm easy going enough; my approach to religion has always been straight forward. Believe what you want to believe. But then I've never really thought about what I do actually believe.

As Scott finishes the last line of that Psalm, I know that I really want to believe that wherever my Grandma is, she's 'dwelling forever.'

God, I'm going to miss her.


	5. Alan

This is awful … possibly the most traumatic day of my life. Sure, the day Virgil turned up at the track unannounced and told me they thought Gordon was going to die, is up there with it. But at least Gordon's still sat alongside me, trying to pretend he's not crying.

My Grandma is dead. This is goodbye.

I'm never going to see her again.

I'm never going to feel her comforting hand on my shoulder, the slap of her fingers as I reach for another piece of pie or see that look that immediately told me to keep my head down and my mouth shut.

I'm never going to smell that god-awful perfume she liked to wear that made me sneeze, or get to smile at the way she giggled when she drank a little too much liquor, even though she only did it now and then.

I can't imagine how my life goes from here, without her to influence me. She's been a mother to me, something I was never lucky enough to have.

Tin-Tin knows I'm struggling and squeezes my hand with hers. Maybe I'll keep a bottle of that perfume, or maybe Tin-Tin can try to teach me to bake pies or something. Or maybe, I'll just try to be more like she was; the best, most fair, kind and honest person I ever had the honour to know.


End file.
